Only 8:30 and I’m all tucked in for the night. It is yet another Friday night to remember.
Catherine is participating in a youth group overnight at our church, so you’d think the mice would play.
You’d be wrong, however.
I’m here alone talking to you and Basil is grabbing a nightcap. So it is with marriage after the glow of the honeymoon fades.
We were supposed to have lunch today, but he was running behind in his tasks and errands, so I worked through lunch and had a few Mallomars to keep my strength up.
He bought me dinner, though. We had slices of piping-hot cheesy pizza while standing in the church hall kitchen with all the kids. Didn’t even take our jackets off.
Afterward, we hit the road fast, lest we prove embarrassing to Catherine. (Or get talked into chaperoning.)
He wanted a beer; I can’t abide bars, so he dropped me at home.
Years ago, I would have put on another coat of lip gloss; sprayed my big, frosted mane of hair; adjusted the shoulder pads and slid my feet into a pair of heels rather than let him out of my sight for even a minute. We’d have had a fancy meal, taken in a movie, maybe gone bowling.
All fun things to do together, but these days I’m grateful that we both recognize when we need a little time to ourselves to regroup and recharge.
So I’m here in the den — my face neatly scrubbed of makeup — a delightful vision in flannel and fleece all snuggled up against fall’s early chill.
The couch beckons, the silence is heavenly, and I appreciate the chance to exhale in my own way. Just as I’m sure he does.
Who needs fireworks when you have someone who loves you just the way you are?